


Gumballs and Bees

by Feathers7501



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathers7501/pseuds/Feathers7501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has to buy a gift for Sam's birthday, and finds himself in an artsy craftsy cutesy gift shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean pulled the Impala over to the curb, frowning at the quirky storefront. 

“Antiques, Crafts and Gift Shoppe” the hand hewn wooden sign read.

Dean hated the cutesy country sign, although the window held some interesting items amongst the more flowery folksy offerings.

Dean ran a hand through his short hair, then passed his palm over his mouth as he slowly got out of the car.

The reason he was here, when he wished he was at the diner across the street, or even the bakery next door – was Sam. His younger brother was everything to him, and it was his Birthday. Now usually, Dean had his gift for Sam well worked out with plenty of time to spare. One year it was a super rare law book, another it was a signed copy of his favourite novel. One year when Sam started to shoot up, and Dean realised that his kid brother was going to outstrip him by inches – he found a genuine stuffed Moose head to present him with.

This year was different. This year here he was, nearly at Sam and Jess’ place with no carefully thought out gift, nothing. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Hence the visit to the cutesy craft cum gift shoppe. And what’s with the damn “Shoppe” anyway – what’s wrong with plan old “Shop” he thought to himself as he crossed the pavement.

A bell rang as Dean pushed the door open. Of course it did – this is the kind of “shoppe” where of course there’s a damn cutesy bell. Dean scowled at the bell and stepped through the door – looking around and expecting someone’s apple cheeked Grandma with a gingham apron to come bustling through the store smelling like lavender and cherry pie. (Actually he thought to himself – anyone who smells of pie can’t be all bad).

There was no one in evidence as Dean looked around – the shop’s contents resolving into individual items as he took a tentative step forward. He was right, there were flowery wooden things, and country decorated baskets, and things made out of… bread? Who the fuck makes things out of bread? There were embroidered things and cutesy painted things – but as Dean continued to look around he could pick out other quirky items.

Dean’s boots felt clumsy as he stepped across the wooden floor to a wall that seemed to be devoted entirely to bee themed things. There were bee tea pots, and bee earrings. There were honey pots and dippers, plus jars of honey. Their labels declared them to be “Local flown – Local grown – Wildflower Honey”. Dean had an urge to put his hands in his pockets and pull his elbows in – he felt large and out of place, like he was going to break something, or set a carefully balanced display tumbling in this shop full of things.

Further toward the back of the shop there were more interesting items, and Dean stepped carefully past dried flowers to get a better look. 

Dean grinned, his smile lighting his green eyes and smoothing out his frown. “well I’ll be damned, would’ja look at that” he half whispered – still feeling too large and loud for this silent shop.  
Dean reached out to touch a shiny red gumball machine on a silver stand; the kind that stood outside every Mom and Pop corner store full of brightly coloured candies to tempt kids as they passed by. Embossed writing had been picked out in flaking silver “deposit coin and turn the dial!”. Dean was reaching into his jeans pocket before he had even thought about it, fishing for a coin. The machine was – surprisingly full of new candy – and if it worked – this would be an awesome gift for his brother. He could put it in his new law offices and joke about taking candy from babies – or something. 

Dean had basically raised his little brother – he was the one who was there for him after Mom died and Dad had gone off the rails – he was a good kid, and Dean was proud of him – he’d turned out ok. Dean remembers as clear as day Sammy at about age 7 or 8, pleading for a coin to feed the gumball machine at any place they went. The brightly coloured machines with the clear glass dome showing exactly what type of mouth-watering candy was inside – Sammy was drawn to them – could be found with his sweaty hands plastered across the cool globe that held the treasure. Sammy would call to him… “Dean! Dean! Look!!! Do we have any coins?”. Sometimes there was money to spare, and Dean was rewarded with a hug from skinny arms before Sammy rushed off to claim his prize. Other times – Dean needed every nickel to keep Sammy fed, that kid went through food like… well like a growing kid. He hated saying no to Sam, hated seeing the kid lower his eyes and try to hide his disappointment – all the while telling Dean it didn’t matter – he didn’t really want the candy….

Dean put a coin in the slot and turned it.

Nothing happened.


	2. chapter 2

It was a slow day for Castiel Novak. He leant on the polished counter of his store and enjoyed the view. He felt very satisfied with himself after dusting and polishing all the wooden surfaces, and rearranging his bee themed display. The new labels for the little jars of honey looked amazing.

It was never particularly busy at this time of year, and he was glad of the reprieve from the tourist season. There were always people touching things and moving things, dropping things and breaking things. It felt like they were messing with bits of him, and oddly enough for someone who made his living from a shop – he loved the moments of silence, when the place felt truly his.

Castiel ran his hand through his already messy dark hair, and shifted from leaning on the counter. He picked up a pencil, and continued to add to the list on the counter.  
“Fix gumball machine” he murmured to himself as he wrote it down.

The gumball machine was in good shape for such a vintage item. It had come from a job lot of old fairground and sideshow paraphernalia. Castiel was pleased when he had managed to win the lot at auction, beating out his competitive friend Anna from the next town. There was also a “Wrestle Popeye” machine, a creepy “Grandma’s Predictions” machine, and a row of three clown heads without the slots underneath. 

Castiel left the shop and strode out the back – determined to look into restoring the old items. Vintage was all the go, and there were collectors who would pay top dollar for fairground and sideshow pieces. 

Castiel sighed as he went – he knew he had neither the know-how, nor the skill to bring the items back to their former glory. He grabbed his laptop and settled himself in an armchair by the window and started to google restoration firms. 

Sunlight streamed through the window showing the dust motes as they swam through the beams, the sun fell on the dark haired man giving his messy hair bright highlights and warming his tan skin.

He lifted his head, blue eyes fixed on the door to the shop – was that the bell? He had better check. Carefully saving his search, he placed the laptop onto a side table and heaved himself out of the comfortable chair. Walking back toward the entry to the shop he stopped involuntarily, staring at the man who was currently admiring (at least he hoped he was admiring it) the gumball machine.

The man seemed to still, staring into the distance with a smile on his face obviously deep in thought. 

“Oh…” Castiel breathed out slowly. The man was beautiful. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, his browny blonde hair short where it drew to the nape of his neck, slightly longer and artfully styled on top. But it was his face, his eyes in particular that drew Castiel to him, green like bottle glass smoothed and found on the beach.

The man reached into his pocket and then to the broken gumball machine. Castiel realised what he was about to do just as the man dropped in his coin and turned the handle.

“Excuse me! Umm… I’m sorry, that doesn’t work!”

Dean startled and turned around to be met with the bluest gaze he had ever encountered, his bitchy comment dying on his lips as his mouth lifted at the corners into a crooked smile. Dean cleared his throat, and mastered his voice.. “That’s ok, man. It was only a nickel”

Castiel walked closer and could not help his answering smile as the man spoke.

“I’ll get you a nickel from the till; I aim never to leave a customer unsatisfied!”

The man’s eyebrows rose and his grin grew wider. Castiel blushed as he realised what he had inadvertently said.

“Oh really? I’ll have to hold you to your word then, won’t I?”

Castiel felt his skin heat and his heart speed up as the beautiful man continued to smile at him.

“I’m sorry” Dean ducked his head and held out his hand. 

“I’m Dean, and I usually don’t make hot guys blush before I’ve even introduced myself”

Castiel took his hand and shook it, his grip was firm, Dean’s palm warm against his own. He didn’t want to let go.

“Castiel, I’m Castiel – welcome to my shop, Dean”

“Nice to meet you Cas, I nearly didn’t come in – not really my kind of store from out front, but you have some great things.” Dean reluctantly let go of Castiel’s hand as he was speaking, and gestured to the gumball machine.  
“Pity this doesn’t work – It would have been a perfect gift for Sammy”

Castiel took a step back.

“Your wife?” he asked tentatively

“Ha! No, dude. My little brother – he loved these when we were kids, it’s his birthday and I wanted to get him something nice”. He felt Castiel’s gaze return to his face and spoke before he knew it.

“There’s no wife… just me….”

Castiel felt the swoop of relief when Dean told him he was shopping for his brother, and clamped down on it. It meant nothing. The man is a customer, a dreamy, sexy customer; but a customer nonetheless, he told himself. When the man added that there was no wife, just himself Castiel felt light with relief, and fluttery with excitement.

“Cas, man… are you with me?” Castiel didn’t realise but he had let the silence draw out while he gazed at Dean’s face, cataloguing each feature.

“Sorry, sorry. I was staring – I have been told I do that. I apologise”.

Dean grinned, his green eyes sparkled and he laughed. 

“It’s ok Cas. Don’t sweat it. I don’t mind at all.”

Dean reached forward and put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he could feel the warmth from his palm seep through his skin.

“Cas, will you do something for me?” Dean was looking deeply into his eyes.

“Anything..” the dark haired man stuttered, “Anything at all..”

Dean took a step closer, Castiel could feel his breath ghosting across his face, warm and intimate.

“Can you find me a screwdriver and a wrench? Let’s get Sammy’s gift fixed before you fulfil your customer satisfaction charter……………………”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gumball machine gets fixed

Dean chuckled as he looked over the set of laughing clown heads. Their mouths painted garishly and stretched wide, ready for the next player.

“Oh I wish Sammy was here – he would hate these!”

Dean continued to look around the storeroom at the back of Castiel’s “shoppe”, touching chipping paint and rust spots with the tips of his fingers lightly as he moved.

Castiel had left him there to answer the “shoppe”’s bell, and to find what tools he had.

Dean smiled, thinking of how flustered Cas had become talking about his “customer satisfaction charter” or whatever. The dude was hot! He was also cute.. with the blushes and stammering. Dean knew how he came across… confident, sexy… he shook his head ruefully – “if only..” he thought to himself.

Castiel rang up the purchase on the old fashioned till. “That will be $12.80, thank you Ma’am”. The woman was older, and had bought some of the wooden puzzles and a balance toy.. “I hope that they enjoy them…” he said… The woman looked up, “They are for my neighbour’s children... as a treat… “

The woman looked down…. “Not that I know what children today enjoy…”

Castiel touched her hand “accidentally” as he handed the woman her change.. “Children don’t change – they will love these; even if they go back to the computer afterwards.”

He paused… “They are lucky to have you as a neighbour”. 

The woman looked up then, and smiled. 

“Thank you. They will enjoy them, thank you very much!”, she took her purchases and bustled out of the store with a lighter step.

Castiel thought of the strange man who was currently unattended in the rear of his store…. Oddly enough the thought of a stranger touching things did not fill him with dread or unease.. he wondered what Dean thought of the collection he had back there – and more importantly, he wondered if Dean could perhaps help him restore some of it, or at least point him in the right direction. His google search had brought up car restorations and house restorations – but nothing close to what he needed. 

Cas flipped the “open” sign to “closed” and snibbed the door – it was near enough to no matter anyway, and he seldom got customers this late in the afternoon. From 4pm onwards people seemed to be heading for home in this town. The market and greengrocer stayed open, but no-one wanted antiques and crafts this time of the day.

Castiel walked back through the shop, and into the back.. wondering what Dean had thought of his eclectic collection of… “things”.

He paused before he walked into the back, watching Dean as he moved slowly around through the room. 

The man was gorgeous! The set of his broad shoulders, his slightly bowlegged gait.. He moved with authority through the space that until then had only been Castiel’s.

Castiel reflected on the space, the back rooms – it had always been his Brother Gabriel’s. He had always thought of it as Gabe’s; until it was suddenly his. 

Castiel dropped his head and his gaze; he missed Gabe. He missed his laughter, his sense of the ridiculous, and his cooking. Cas lifted his head and looked at the man currently filling the space. He almost felt short of breath..

Dean looked around and caught sight of Cas, but the man had his head bowed and seemed to deep in thought.

“You alright, man?” he took a step toward Cas.

Cas looked up and took a steadying breath.

“Yes, Dean. I was just thinking about Gabe.. this was his, all his…..”

“I’m sorry Cas, hey – if you want me to go, that’s cool – I’ll go…”

Castiel reached out a hand – 

“No! “  
He realised that had sounded too vehement

“No,” he said more softly – “It’s fine – don’t go…”

Dean flushed, something was bothering the guy, but the gumball machine was fixed and in the trunk of the Impala, he was ready to continue the drive to Sam’s, but he was reluctant to just leave.

Dean cleared his throat and looked around…

“Cas, I have to get to Sam’s – he’s expecting me…….”

“Of course, Dean. I’ll see you out.”

“No!” Dean flushed – it had happened again – he’d spoken without even thinking – damn his voice!

“I mean, we fixed the gumball machine, and Sammy will be thrilled – but I’ve had a look at this other stuff, it’s amazing, Cas!”

Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eyes – they were glowing with enthusiasm, and Dean’s small smile encouraged Castiel’s own..

“Well, it’s just a job lot I picked up…….”

“No, Cas, this is fantastic stuff. Do you have a restorer? Someone who can help you get it back to working order?”

Dean flushed – “I mean – not that you probably can’t do it… I mean – with your shop and all…..” he worried he had overstepped.

Cas felt relief flood through him – “I can’t do it myself – when you came into the shop I was googling restorers – I found car and house restoration – but nothing that related to these items.”

Dean took a step toward Castiel, and couldn’t help but notice his blue, blue eyes and the beseeching look they held.

“I could maybe help? If you wanted me to? I restore cars, but it’s sorta the same, sand the old paint – repaint – get the gears and cogs working, oil the springs – a machine is a machine…” he had to stop talking, Castiel had taken a step closer and was looking at him like he had hung the moon.

“Could you?” asked Castiel? He shook his head and took a step back… “why would you, why would you do this for me?”

“Cas…” 

Dean also took a step back – somehow they had been much closer than polite “personal space” called for. They were standing on the wooden floor in the back of a dusty shop – a “shoppe” no less Dean reminded himself.

Dean cleared his throat. “I love to fix stuff. Cas, Sammy only lives an hour from here, and I’m only a couple hours away. I..” he looked down, suddenly uncomfortable with the clear blue gaze…

“I’d be happy to help – need something to keep me busy..” Dean looked up again – Castiel’s gaze had not faltered.

“I’d be happy to have you Dean….”


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel waved Dean goodbye from the sidewalk… watching the lights from the classic Chevy as they faded out. He shook his head ruefully, and walked back through the door of his shop, locking it behind him.

He walked through his “shoppe”, switching off overhead lights turning off the few electronic items in the store. As Cas walked through to the rear, he looked back one more time – picturing Dean as he had seen him standing in the store. He shook his head again and pulled the door closed, entering the lounge he had set up for himself, and scooping the laptop from where he had left it earlier that day.

Cas was glad he did not have to go far, he was exhausted. He gave thanks to Gabe for fitting out the living areas at the back of the store so comfortably. He walked through the makeshift lounge with the overstuffed armchair under the window, and walked further back to the kitchen area. The room was filled with the warmth of the day, but dim with the twilight drawing in. Castiel quickly drew the curtains as he filled his kettle with water and plugged it in to boil. The kettle drew a grin from him each and every time – shaped like a bee hive, he expected swarms of bees to erupt once it boiled. They never did – but it amused him still.

With a steaming cup of tea and his lap top in front of him at the kitchen table, he had every intention of researching more fairground antique restorers.

++++++++++++++

Dean grinned.. “Close your eyes, Sammy!” he said

“C’mon Dean, we’re not 12 anymore, and it’s Sam!” but he closed his eyes and allowed his brother to lead him through the front room and to the front porch.

“What, Dean? You got me a car? A puppy?”. 

“No Dude, just step outside and kinda reach forward, No! to your left!” Sam’s 6’ 4” gigantor body looked hilarious tentatively stepping forward with his long arms waving in front….

“Just one step more”, laughed Dean… “And reach out…..”

Sam reached and felt cold smooth glass under his fingertips... he reached further and let his huge hands smooth over what felt like a glass globe.

“Aaaand….. Open ‘em!” Dean could not have sounded more pleased with himself.

Sam opened his eyes and finally understood what he had touched. It was a shiny red authentic gumball machine full of candy. He laughed.. “A gumball machine? All for me??”. Sam lurched forward and hugged the machine – “Mine! The candy is all mine!” He turned his head to look at Dean who was leaning against the doorframe grinning with Jessica looking over his shoulder.

“Where did you get this, Dean? It’s just like the ones I used to bug you about when we were kids!”

Sam stood back to appreciate his gift, and Jessica ducked under Dean’s arm to join him…

“Does it work? Sam asked

“Sure does little brother; worked on it myself. Stick a genuine nickel in – and out comes genuine candy!”

Dean ducked away from Sam’s gaze. “It’s not a big deal Sammy….but I thought it would tickle your fancy. You can stick it in the foyer of your new offices… I think it would look great.”

Sam and Jessica laughed – his tenor and her alto mixing perfectly. They fitted together so well these two. Dean shook his head at how well matched they were – how they seemed to complement each other without even trying. Sam had sure met his perfect match when he met Jess.

Sam brought his gumball machine in and insisted it sit in pride of place in the lounge room until he could get it to his new office on Monday.

Dean went to bed that night smiling. Sam had loved his gift, Jessica had high fived him for finding such a “Sam-ish” present, dinner had been perfect and they had shared a few beers, just him and Sammy shooting the shit. Nothing earth shattering, Sam’s work, Dean’s work, family and friends – just catching up. It had been too long. As he slipped between the cool sheets of the guest room bed, Dean wondered again why he didn’t make the 3 hour drive more often…… He fell asleep remembering Sam’s smile, and Jessica’s laugh.

++++++++++++

Castiel opened the front door to his shop, propping it open with a cast iron beehive. It was a beautiful morning, and the breeze from the open door was welcome.

He cradled his cup of coffee in one hand, and walked back toward the counter. He had had a restless night’s sleep, not bad necessarily – just restless. Sandy hair and green eyes popping up intermittently in his dreams…

Castiel shook his head. Dean had offered to come back, to help him restore his fairground items, they had even exchanged numbers, but somehow in the light of a new day, and in the familiar surroundings of his store, he doubted he would hear from the man. He had been on his way to his brother’s house... his birthday, and had taken the gumball machine with him, after he had fixed it. He still insisted on paying the full price.

Castiel finished his coffee and shrugged – Dean would either come back or he wouldn’t. Castiel could do nothing about it either way. He walked toward the back of the store to put his mug in the sink.

++++++++++++++++++

Dean stared out through Jess and Sam’s kitchen window. There wasn’t much to see – some overgrown lawn, and old apple tree… Dean wasn’t seeing the view though – he was thinking of the man he had met yesterday – the owner of the damn “shoppe”. After he had fixed the gumball machine, talking the guy through each step, he had offered to come back sometime and have a closer look at the other stuff he had out the back. He never offered to do things for people. His style was more get in get out get gone. No promises, no debts. 

Dean turned back to the pancake mix and gave it one more whisk. He checked the pan with the eggs and the bacon and filled the water on the coffee maker. He returned to the window to wait for Sam and Jess to appear – but his mind kept returning to Castiel. His dark hair, messy like he’d been running his hands through it, his blue eyes, looking at him – almost looking right through him.

Jessica and Sam arrived in the kitchen with a giggle and a grin.

“Hey, Dean – you didn’t have to make us breakfast!” Sam said, but sat straight down at the kitchen table in front of an empty plate.

Jess also sat at a set place – “No, Dean, you shouldn’t have” she rolled her eyes – as if Dean didn’t make breakfast every time he stayed!

“So… plans for today guys?” asked Dean as he distributed pancakes, bacon and eggs to the empty plates.

Jess and Sam both looked up – when Dean stayed the weekend, the plan was always the same. Coffee in town, a late lunch and dinner with family and friends in the evening, followed by a late morning, more coffee, and a movie marathon Sunday afternoon.

“Why are you even asking, Dean – you know we didn’t have anything different planned.” Sam spoke through a mouthful of pancake and maple syrup.

“Well… I thought if you didn’t have plans for this afternoon I might….. do something”

“What?” asked Jess..

“Umm.. just something I said I’d take care of – the guy who helped me out yesterday – I bought your gumball machine from him, Sam. He just needs help with restoring some other cool shit” Dean spoke to his plate and took a long sip of his coffee…


	5. Chapter 5

Dean is and isn’t surprised to find himself headed back toward Castiel’s “Shoppe”

“Man, I can’t keep thinking of it like that – I’m just gonna call it Castiel’s place... damn frigging “shoppe” with an “e”...”

It is only an hour’s drive, but he knows he has to be back for the family dinner... it would look weird if he missed that. Not that he ever would, family means everything – that’s why he’s come after all. But there was an itch under his skin, a restlessness that kept him fidgeting until he made the decision to spend the afternoon driving back to Castiel….. He couldn’t explain it. So he didn’t. He got into his car and drove there – telling himself that he had told Castiel he would help him with the restoration of his collection.

Sam and Jess had looked surprised that he was leaving on a “family weekend” but said nothing. Sam had walked him to the car… as Dean swung his legs in, he had noticed that his brother looked concerned – “You ok, Dean?” was all he had said though.   
“Peachy, just something I gotta do...” was all Dean had said before he promised to be back for dinner and backed out of the driveway.

Dean pulled the big black car up in the same spot as he had yesterday. Castiel’s place looked the same, except that the front door was open, propped with big... Was that a beehive? A cast iron bee hive? Dean shook his head and couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face.

Dean locked the Impala, and walked around it and onto the sidewalk, and with none of the hesitation of yesterday; he strode straight into the store.

“Cas?” he called. “Cas, you here, buddy?”

Dean was at a loss when there was no answer... He suddenly felt impulsive, uncomfortable. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket and walked toward the counter.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel had slept well, but woke early after disconcerting dreams. There was nothing solid to remember, just glimpses of green eyes and laughing clowns….

He had made himself a breakfast of coffee and toast slathered with his own honey, and then gone for a walk through the orchard to check his hives before opening the shop. A second cup of coffee, and he was feeling much more balanced and ready to face the day. Saturdays were usually quite busy what with the local shoppers and the weekend tourists; he opened the shop at 9 sharp and had several customers straight off.

There were two teens looking for a gift for their Mom’s birthday – Castiel tactfully steered them away from the bread dough and dried flower items, and toward the antique china tea cups…. And there had been a woman looking for something special for her sister – he touched her gently on the shoulder as they were examining jewellery, and then suggested an antique bee brooch in enamel and silver with marcasite eyes. The woman was so pleased and said over and over it was perfect!

“How did you know? You must be psychic! She loves bees, and silver!” she continued to gush until it made Castiel quite uncomfortable…

“Just a fluke, I guess. Let me get it wrapped for you...”

Castiel knew he was good at reading people, had been since he was a kid. He hated when people drew attention to it though. It made him feel even more separated, more different. He had to admit – it did come in handy when one ran a gift shop! It was easy to accidentally touch people as they deliberated over a gift, as they asked his opinion. It was harder when he accidentally touched people who weren’t thinking of gifts and making others happy – the emotions, the feelings, could be awful: sometimes downright horrible.

Castiel shuddered, thinking of last week when he had touched hands, skin to skin with an older man in the market – so much hate, so much anger – he had wanted to throw up on the spot… but had waited until he got home. It didn’t happen often, he was used to protecting himself these days, and limited casual touch as much as possible. Still, it was a gift that he was grateful for.

Castiel was out in his kitchen filling the kettle while the shop was empty when he heard his name called.

“Cas?” he called. “Cas, you here, buddy?”

Castiel put the kettle down carefully, and walked as quickly as he could without running toward the shop.

“Dean!” he said breathlessly

“Hey Cas...”

Castiel couldn’t believe that Dean was back! Yes, he had said he would be, but still…. Here he was leaning all over his polished counter with his green eyes and smile and freckles… Castiel had to look away….

“Hello, Dean.., what are you doing back here?”

Dean had watched Cas rush through the shop to greet him, they had locked eyes and Cas had smiled and looked pleased to see him. But then he had looked away and greeted him with a stilted “Hello, Dean...”

A faint blush flooded Dean’s face, he looked down, maybe he had read this wrong?

“Umm... I thought you wanted me to look at some of your collection for restoration? Maybe now’s not a good time..?”

“Oh God” thought Castiel… “I’m terrible at this…”

“Dean, I’m pleased to see you! I just didn’t think you would be back this soon. I was just making tea, will you join me?”

Dean looked up into two very blue eyes that were shining with sincerity; there was no guile, no evasion there. He took a breath and straightened up. “I’d like that, very much” and he grinned.

Castiel felt his chest loosen and a smile matching Dean’s creased his face.

“Come through then, it’s not much but it’s all mine…”  
Dean followed Castiel through the door between shop and house, and noticed that there was more that the store rooms he had been focused on yesterday. They walked through a comfortable lounge room and into the kitchen.

Castiel’s kitchen was warm and light. The sun was streaming in from a window that overlooked a garden filled with trees and plants. Dean was surprised to see such a large garden behind a shop, but then they were on the outskirts of the town.

The kitchen was painted a warm butter yellow with polished wooden countertops that matched the counter in the shop. There was a vintage print of beekeeper’s advertising on the wall, and a vase of apple blossom in the corner.

Dean relaxed. He felt tension draining out of him as he took a seat on one of the bar stools that lined the counter and leant his elbows on the polished wood.

Dean wanted to tell Castiel that he loved the kitchen, but what came out was “What’s with the bee poster, Cas?”

Castiel looked up at the print, and then over at his guest as he finished pouring boiling water from his beehive inspired kettle into a yellow and black striped tea pot. He carried the tea pot to the counter, and went back for cups and a pot of honey, placing these down carefully before replying.

He shrugged. “I like bees, they are hardworking and social insects. He grinned then. “And I love honey. I have a couple of hives out in the orchard. The honey sold in the shop is from my own hives.”

Castiel poured the steaming tea into the two yellow and black striped cups. He pushed one across to Dean and opened the jar of honey. He pushed this across to his guest as well, with a small spoon. “Taste it….”

Dean dipped the spoon into the gloriously amber honey, waiting for it to drain of excess before he scooped a finger across it.

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the gorgeous man suck the honey straight from his finger. The moan of pleasure he made though – that caused his cheeks to flush, and his pants to start feeling uncomfortably tight.

“That is seriously good! Nothing like the processed stuff in a plastic squeeze bottle.”

Castiel looked into the other man’s green eyes as they sparkled with pleasure.

“Ahh,” he cleared his throat. “Put some in your tea, it makes all the difference, and it’s good for you too, full of natural antibacterial agents and good for allergies as well….” Castiel trailed off aware that he had been rambling.

Dean grinned. Cas was cute when he was flustered. Flaming cheeks were a good look on him, accentuating the deep blue of his eyes. Dean took a sip of his tea after adding a dollop of the honey.

“This is good, Cas. Really good…”

Castiel was calmer as he rinsed the empty tea cups. He and Dean had chatted easily over the drinks about the shop, the honey and the items that needed to be restored.

He took Dean back to the store room for a closer look at a couple of them.

“Man, I love this one! It’s as creepy as fuck, though.” Dean’s attention was captured by the “Grandma’s Predictions” machine. There was a creepy old lady mannequin in the glass case, Dean guessed that if it was working, you would put a coin in and a paper fortune would be delivered to the scalloped brass slot in the front.

“I wonder what grandma would predict for me if she still worked…” Dean felt warmth behind him a second before he felt Cas’ hand settle gently on his shoulder.

“Happiness, Dean – she would wish you happiness…..” 

Dean turned around to find Castiel right there… his blue eyes sincere, and his head tilted slightly to the left.. Castiel lifted his hand again and brushed the back of his fingers against Dean’s cheek.

“Oh..” Cas dropped his hand. “And…”

“What, Cas?” Dean took a half step closer to Cas, and found his hands settling naturally on the shorter man’s waist. He could feel the solid warmth of his skin through the layers of clothing.

Dean had to lean closer to catch the words that fell softly from Castiel’s lips.

“She would tell you it wasn’t your fault…”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had been young when his mom died. A freak accident, a rainy night a slippery road and a driver who was in a hurry and ran an intersection. Mary had had no chance – she was dead before the paramedics got there. She had only been on a trip to the grocery store, to buy ice cream. Ice cream for Dean’s 10th Birthday.

Dean’s dad had never been the same. Sure; he went to work, he came home, he paid the bills, but he shut down. Gone was the smiling dad who had been happy to hoist Dean onto his shoulders and carry him through the grocery store – replaced with a grim and grey faced father who was always too busy, too tired, or too disinterested to play, let alone take a real interest in his son’s lives.

Dean missed more than anything the carefree and secure life he had had before his mom died. He had never appreciated the sense of security, of rightness that came with a family. He only knew that he had missed it and felt its’ lack once he was suddenly responsible for talking to Sammy, checking his homework, opening the curtains in the morning and closing them at night. Dean was the one who knew where Sammy was, knew when his assignments were due, or his science fair entry was awarded a prize.  
Dean felt the weight – the total responsibility of keeping his small family on track, keeping them normal. Waking before his dad became habit. If he didn’t wake John, he may have slept through and been late for work. Dean made sure John went to work, he made sure Sammy had breakfast before he caught the bus, he checked the bread and milk, and whether there was anything for dinner.

Even when he was at school himself, or with friends, it was in the back of his mind. "What have I forgotten... Is there anything I need to do'. An incessant litany as a backdrop to his teenage years.

It was a constant weight; a weight he didn’t even realise he was carrying until years later. Years later when Sammy moved out to go to college on a full ride, and Dean felt he could also find his own place nearer Bobby’s garage where he had made a name for himself restoring classic cars and working on custom jobs.

Dean had thought it would be easier for his Dad without the two of them bugging him.

How wrong he had been.

His Dad had encouraged him to move out. John had supported his move after it was just the two of them. If John’s disinterested shrug could be called encouragement. It had taken all Dean had to move out, to make his own space, Bobby was a long time friend of John’s and had supported Dean’s move. “He’ll be fine – the idjit. You need to get out of that house, boy.”

Dean remembered the optimism he had had moving into his own place, the lightness and freedom of only being responsible for himself… he had felt almost euphoric….until he had returned to his Dad’s a week later to cook a Sunday meal…….

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
Dean pulled his hands from Castiel’s waist as if he had been burned, he took a step back and his head flew up, green eyes narrowed as they met Castiel’s guileless blue…

“What the actual fuck, dude?”

Dean wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling cold sweat on his forehead and upper lip…he could feel the memories of finding his dad slumped in his favourite lounge chair in front of a TV showing infomercials rushing through his mind. The smell of alcohol and something fouler, sweeter in the closed room so real he could almost taste it.

“Dean…”

“Stay back, man” Dean held a hand out in defence.. “Don’t come any closer..”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped, and his head dropped. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Dean”

“I have to go. “ Dean didn’t wait for an answer, but backed away a couple of steps, he had reached the doorway of the store room when he turned and strode out, through the back room and the shop.

Castiel watched the sandy haired man stride from the shop, he watched as he crossed the pavement and went straight to his car, unlocking it and opening the driver’s door, Castiel watched as Dean slid into the driver’s seat and almost immediately started the Impala up. He was gone before Castiel could even blink.

Castiel walked to the door of his shop and shut it – turning the sign to closed. He walked slowly back through his beloved store with heavy footsteps, the shop feeling empty for the first time ever now that Dean’s presence was absent.

The bee and honey display gave him no pleasure, and he couldn’t bear to re-enter the store room. He shut that door too, retreating to the kitchen.

Castiel looked around aimlessly, before dropping to a chair at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. The heels of his hands scrubbing into his eyes, causing stars to burst behind his eyelids.

Castiel stayed like that, unmoving, as the room grew dimmer with the setting of the sun..


	7. Chapter 7

Dean drove. It was what he did whenever he needed to think, or clear his mind. Whenever he needed time, or to think; the Impala was his sanctuary. The only one he had ever had until he got his own apartment. Even then there was nothing like blowing the cobwebs away on the open road with great music blaring and the big black car eating up the highway. Today was different – today the Impala wasn’t helping, but his baby was at least helping him flee.

What the fuck had just happened?

One minute has was planning to kiss the hottest guy he had met in a long time, a guy who had seemed so genuine, and with whom Dean had felt an instant bond – however corny that may sound. The next freaking minute it had felt like Cas had reached into his very soul and pulled out the deepest, darkest parts of it. And then – then he had said it “wasn’t your fault!” what did that even mean?

Dean pulled a shaking hand backwards through his hair, and scrubbed at the back of his neck.

The Impala belted along the highway, eating up the miles. Unfortunately Dean realised – he was heading the opposite way from Sammy’s. “Damnit”.

Dean slowed and looked for a place to pull over. He needed to think. Just for a moment.

Dean pulled the Impala into a wooded parking area, pulling the big black car to the furthest edge of the gravel expanse. The view through the windscreen was pine and fir trees stretching into the distance. Dean opened the door with a sigh and stepped out, moving around the car to lean against the hood.

Dean remembered finding his Dad dead that Sunday a week after he had moved out. The paramedics had told him they suspected a stroke. The doctor had confirmed it. John had died from a massive stroke around 12 hours earlier. The Doctor was kind, but shook his head sadly. 

 

“I’m sorry, son” he had said kindly. “But with your father’s health the way it was, this wasn’t unexpected”

That had shaken Dean.

“What health? What way? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, he had high blood pressure, high cholesterol, cardio vascular damage from his previous heart scare and….

Dean held up a hand, and backed away a couple of steps halting the flow of words…

“Wait, just wait….” He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. 

“What previous heart scare? He would have told us, he would have told _Me_.

Dean looked out, his green eyes unseeing, the memories parading through his head as though it were yesterday. He remembers Sammy joining him at the hospital, waiting for a definitive cause of death. He remembers Sam joining him at his place after and then the funeral….

Dean shook his head and took a deep breath, staring out over the trees. He should have known. This was familiar ground for Dean, but he damn well should have known something was wrong. It was his responsibility to look out for Sammy, and for his Dad. Dean clenched his fists, how could he not have known that his Dad had had a heart attack. How could he have missed that? He kept on top of it all – even his Dad’s freaking dental appointments for fuck’s sake. Dean ran the heels of his hands across his eyes. Damn eyes watering – probably allergic to the damn woods.

His Dad had been his responsibility and he had fucked up. Plain and simple.

He finally awoke from his thoughts when he found the sky was darkening and he was getting chilled.

“Damnit, dinner” he cursed to himself as he fumbled for his cell with fingers clumsy with cold.

“Sammy! I’m sorry!”

“Dean! Where the hell are you? Are you ok?”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’m fine. Just lost track of time, that’s all.”

“You sure, Dean? You left here like you had a wasp in your ass, and now you sound all weird and you’re late for our dinner… where are you? Are you sure you’re ok?”

Dean relaxed into the warmth of his little brother’s concern; whilst scoffing over the line at Sam

“I’m fine, I’ll be back in an hour – see you soon, Bitch”

“Jerk! Fine, see you soon..”

Dean cut the connection with his thumb, and climbed back into the Impala, sliding over the familiar leather seats, running the steering wheel through his palms, and relaxing into the comfort of his Baby.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

“Hey Sammy?”

Dean was studiously flipping pancakes; Sam was sipping coffee behind him at the table.

He’d made it in time for dinner at the Roadhouse last night – but only just. It was great, as always, catching up with everyone… but for the first time that he could ever remember, Dean was glad that it was over. Glad to get back to Jess and Sam’s, glad to slide between the cool sheets of the spare room bed and not think any more.

“Yeah, Dean?”

Dean flipped 2 pancakes onto the waiting plate and poured more batter into the pan making it sizzle and hiss.

“Nothing, err, except – you want to take Jess some pancakes? I can stick them on a tray – get you in the good books!” Dean turned and winked at his brother.

Sammy looked up and gave Dean one of his “looks”, lips pursed, bitch face number 3..

“You’re being weird, Dean” Sam gestured with his fork to emphasise the word “weird”. “But yeah, gimmee pancakes and syrup – I’ll take them through to Jess.”

It wasn’t until Dean was nearly home that he allowed himself to think about Castiel, his shop, or the last words they had exchanged. They weighed on his mind as he pulled into the driveway.

Dean’s house was dark as he entered. There was no one there waiting for him, no welcoming lights on.

He let himself in and flicked on the lights as he went.. dropping his duffle in the bedroom, he headed back to the lounge and threw himself heavily into the couch. Picking up the remote, Dean flicked the TV on and channel surfed, landing on re-runs of Dr Sexy MD. He was no closer to sorting anything out in his mind, but at least he was home.

He was going to think about how much he had enjoyed seeing Sam and Jess, the dorks – they were made for each other.

He was going to think about work next week – not much excitement there, but perhaps a new challenge was just around the corner.

He was definitely not going to think about unbelievably blue eyes or stubbled jawlines….

“oh fuck” Dean thought as his hand slipped into his boxers… “I’m so fucked up…”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel had opened the shop as he usually did on a Sunday morning. He put out the cast iron beehive doorstopper, he polished the counter and ran a duster along the already dust –free merchandise.

It felt half hearted. It felt like “busy-work”. Castiel had never really understood that phrase in the turn of the century books he enjoyed. “busywork”. But now he did. Work that makes you feel useful or productive when all you are doing is waiting for something else.

“Elizabeth Bennet is a classic example, Thank god I am not Elizabeth Bennet” He thought randomly…

Castiel’s morning went more slowly that he was used to. There were several customers, but not enough to keep him busy, and he was feeling reluctant to “assist” any of them in finding what they might be looking for. If he had thought about it – he may have noticed that he also had fewer sales than he normally did on a Sunday.

Castiel closed his shop at 4, Dean had not returned, Castiel was disappointed even though he had not expected the green eyed man to return. Not after what had happened.

In the twilight, as dusk settled over Castiel’s orchards and garden, Castiel cradled a hot cup of tea in his hands and watched the sun go down from the kitchen window. He sighed; his gift had always been a blessing and a curse.

The dark haired man moved through his kitchen and sank heavily into the armchair by the window. Shoulders slumped, almost in defeat; he still cradled the cup of tea laced with finest honey in his palms as he looked out across the darkening view.  
“Why?” Castiel thought to himself. “Why do I have to blurt things out, why can’t I just bite my tongue, stay silent?”

Castiel put the cup carefully on the side table and leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. He thought back to the many times his “gift” had helped him, the many small ways – helping customers find the perfect present, before that, helping strangers find keys, wallets, even lost dogs. 

Castiel’s brow drew down in wrinkles – it wasn’t a bad gift, it didn’t come every time… but when it did – it was strong and true – and Castiel had become used to acting upon it. Helping people find the perfect present, or a lost key – they were just as important as each other – and he only used his gift for good.

He thought back again to that man in the market – the man he had touched by accident who was so full of darkness… the memory was uncomfortable, to say the least.  
Castiel went through his evening routines, tidying up, setting things for the morning, bathroom, bed… but he lay awake between the cool sheets, sleep eluding him.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean went through the mechanics of his life. He worked a full week, fixed rattles and squeaks, changed out oil and fuel filters, and even made inroads on a classic Mustang he was doing up. He wasn’t late; he worked his days, and spent the evenings alone with his TV.

By Friday Bobby was giving him the side eyes, with his trucker’s cap pushed back on his head…

“You alright, Boy? Anything buggin’ you?”

Dean looked at Bobby with surprise, must have cost him a heap to actually talk about feelings.

“I’m fine, Bobby” he sighed, not looking the older man in the eyes.

“Everything go ok with Sam?” Bobby cleared his throat and took a step closer..

“Yeah, everything went fine.” Dean looked up at the man in front of him. He let the breath he’d been holding out, and leaned back against the Mustang..

“Something weird happened on the way there though, I dunno how to explain it.."

Dean took the rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands..

He shook his head.. “Doesn’t matter, Bobby.”

“Well boy, if you ever want to talk, I guess I’ll still be here. Go get outa here, see ya tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Bobby”

Dean packed his tools, and washed up. He gave a wave to Bobby who was still in his office poring over the books.

Dean shucked his greasy clothes as soon as he was in the door and headed for the shower. As he stood under the hot spray the thoughts that he had relentlessly tried to ignore all week were back. Dean was an expert at not thinking about things. He could go for weeks, months even – not thinking about his Mom. He could go for months not thinking about his Dad. But tonight, this week in fact – it had become harder and the thoughts just kept creeping in there.

What if he had gone to his Dad’s mid-week – just to drop in. What if he had called Friday to cook instead of Sunday? Why was he such a fuck-up? Selfishly enjoying his own space for the first time when his duty, his responsibility had been to his Dad, to Sammy.  
Dean scrubbed at his hair and his skin, feeling guilty and selfish and angry.

As he dressed in sweats and a Led Zeppelin Tee, his anger settled on Castiel. How dare he say personal shit? What was he? A freaking mind reader? What the fuck did he know about Dean? About Dean’s life? 

Dean had grabbed his keys, phone and wallet without even thinking and was out the door.

Sitting in the familiar driver’s seat of his beloved Impala, he paused for a second – where the fuck was he going? Taking a breath, he started the car, the rumbling engine soothing him.

Dean flung an arm across the back of the seat as he turned his head to back out of the car spot. He knew where he was going – although he had no idea why. But for once, he was going to tackle this head on and not avoid it.

That damn Castiel, as hot as he may be, had some questions to answer.

Once the decision had been made, Dean felt lighter. He plugged in a Kansas tape as he pointed the Impala up the highway through the night.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Castiel closed the shop at 6 on Friday. The week had dragged, and he had felt out of sorts. 

The week had started badly with Dean leaving so abruptly, causing Castiel to examine his motives for seeking out the truth in people.

It had been a skill he had had so long that he no longer thought of it as a skill – it was just the way he was.

Even as a child he had been able to touch other children and see what they were feeling – see what they wanted. Mostly it had made him friends – although sometimes it had backfired.

He remembered clearly his first day in junior high, coming across another boy at his locker, trying to stifle the tears running down his cheeks. Cas had touched the boy on the hand and asked if he was ok. He had immediately felt that the boy wanted his friend to like him, to play with him. So Castiel comforted him the only way he knew how. He put an arm around the boy and said “it’s ok – I’m sure your friend Ian will play with you again.”

Castiel received an unpractised, but also very unexpected punch to the nose. 

“I don’t like him, I don’t like boys!! Shut up!!” and his attacker had run away down the corridor.

Castiel was left sitting on his ass wondering what had happened.

Castiel spent time in his shop, and time with his bees, finding that the gentle hum of the drones going about their business, watching them seem to float from flower head to flower head soothed him. He was lying in the clover filled grass as the last of the light left the sky thinking to himself what a long week it had been. His thoughts turned to Dean. The look on the man’s face as he had pulled away from him last week had been pure terror. Terror and then hurt quickly replaced by anger. Even with righteous fury sketched in the lines of his face the man had been gorgeous. His green eyes had flashed hard like emeralds.

Castiel rolled over in the grass and watched as the sun went down over his bee hives. He sighed and pushed himself up, heading for the kitchen which was lit warmly from within.

“A cup of tea, and grilled cheese,” he thought to himself as he walked across the grass. “That will help”.

Castiel was rinsing his few dishes and wiping the crumbs from the grilled cheese off the counter when he thought he heard the rumble of a car pull up outside the shop. He felt his cheeks warm, and as he walked through from the kitchen to the shop stopped dead as he saw Dean’s face against the glass of the door. “Cas? CAS! Open up!”

 

Dean still had no idea what he was doing back here at Cas’ stupid “Shoppe”. All he knew was that he had felt compelled to come, to have it out, to find out what the dark haired man knew about him – and how the fuck he knew the things he seemed to know.

He banged on the closed door, peering into the darkened store, suddenly aware he was wearing a worn t shirt and sweats. “Fuck it” he thought, “I’m not here to freaking pick up” and he banged again on the door. “Cas? CAS! Open up!”

Dean could see Cas silhouetted in the light spilling from the kitchen, and watched as the other man made his way across the shop to open the door.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

“Let me in would’ja, I’m not having this conversation on the street”

Cas opened the door fully to let Dean through, holding himself stiffly away from the other man. He then turned, closed and relocked the door, and gestured toward the kitchen. 

“Go through, please”

Dean hesitated, but only for a second before walking ahead of Castiel, past the counter and though to the warmly lit kitchen.

Cas followed closely behind, then passed the other man and headed for the stove.

“I’ll make tea, please sit” Castiel gestured and Dean chose the same stool he had sat on last time he was in this kitchen.

Dean watched in silence as Castiel moved smoothly through his kitchen, filling the kettle, getting out the same mugs and the honey. He looked confident, comfortable, capable. Dean felt anything but, as he tried to relax at the counter. He took a deep breath, leaned his elbows on the counter and put his hands in his hair… 

“Cas.. I’m not sure what’s going on.” Dean looked up then, meeting Castiel’s eyes across the counter.

The other man said nothing, as he poured their tea into mugs, and passed one across the polished wood to Dean, pushing the honey toward him as well.

“Have some honey in your tea. I find that tea can be very calming.”

Castiel walked around the bench to join Dean, and took the stool next to him burying his nose in the fragrant steam coming from his mug. He watched as his unexpected guest added honey to his tea – no flirting this time. He could see from the drawn look on Dean’s face, and the tense set of his shoulders that the man was upset and anxious, and settled next to him, without touching him, letting his warmth, his presence show the other man that he was ready to listen.

Dean sipped his tea, enjoying the warmth from the mug seeping into his cold hands. He felt Castiel next to him, not saying anything, just… being. He turned his head, taking a good look at the other man for the first time that evening. Cas had turned toward him slightly, and smiled as their eyes met. Dean felt his face heat up, and looked back into his mug. Taking a breath he said the first thing that came into his head. 

“I’m more of a coffee guy, but this tea doesn’t suck.” Castiel raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I’m glad…”

Dean felt the warmth of the tea and the sweetness of the honey relax him slightly. He turned again to the man beside him.

“So what gives, dude?” Dean cleared his throat. “What was all that about last week? You said... “

Dean was suddenly lost for words, he felt bashful in face of Castiel’s unwavering gaze. 

Cas sighed into the steam of his tea, he could feel Dean’s discomfort coming from him in waves.

“Dean, there’s something you need to know about me, something you may not like. I’m… different..”

Dean shook his head… “If you’re about to tell me you’re gay, dude… I sorta got that a while back.”

“No, that’s not it” Castiel said with a wry smile. “Although Bi is probably a better label if you need one. I have a talent? A skill.” He continued without looking away from the green eyes regarding him. Dean nodded in encouragement.  
“Since I was a small child, I have been able to… know what people are feeling, what they, want or are wishing for…”

Cas leant forward and rested his arms on the counter, waiting for Dean’s inevitable reaction. So many people had drawn away from him, shut him out or just plain disbelieved him. He wouldn’t let this gorgeous man’s reaction hurt him.

Dean however didn’t looked shocked or instinctively pull back, instead Castiel saw genuine confusion in those green, green eyes. Castiel watched as he leant back on his stool and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“So, you’re a mind reader?” Dean finally asked.

Castiel couldn’t help a bubble of laughter escaping.. “No!” and he held up a hand in denial.. “No, I have no idea what you‘re thinking, Dean.” Dean watched as Cas raised a single eyebrow.. “But last week – I think I could have guessed! Not so sure now though.”

Dean blushed and gave a chuckle.. “I’m nothing if not subtle…”

Cas turned and faced the man beside him. “I have to touch skin, and then I can feel what the other person is feeling at that moment.” Dean listened as Cas told him about the boy in junior high punching him, but also how it had helped a lonely little boy make friends.

Dean couldn’t help but believe the story that Cas was telling him. His blue eyes were full of sincerity, his graceful hands sketching his story along with the words. When Cas fell silent, he looked down – and suddenly seemed unsure of himself. Dean found it endearing, but he needed to ask what the other man had meant when Dean was last here. It had been like a punch to the gut.. a deep visceral feeling when Cas had said those words...

Cas looked up and met Dean’s gaze. 

“When I touched you on the cheek, while we were joking about the creepy prediction machine… I felt your burden, your guilt surrounding the death of your father.” Cas looked down again, unable to meet Dean’s intent scrutiny. “I don’t get details, it’s more like getting a sense of a whole feeling or desire..” Castiel sighed, his shoulders slumping. He put his head in his hands, locking his fingers in his dark brown hair. “I’m not explaining this very well… I’m sorry”.

Dean leaned back again, unable to take his eyes off the man beside him. He had not shared the details of his father’s death with anyone except Sam, and didn’t let Sam get into the “touchy feely feelings” ballpark ever. He was adept at cutting those conversations of at the knees, much preferring to change the subject and think of other things. 

“Cas…” Dean touched the other man lightly on the shoulder. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

Dean found himself looking into those blue eyes again, so close he could almost see his reflection in their surface. He felt comfortable with the man from the "Shoppe", and thought he should tell him the bare bones of why he had bolted from the store a week earlier.

“Cas.. I can’t feel my ass anymore. Can we move this to the couch before it drops off entirely?”

Dean grinned, he knew that’s not what Cas was expecting him to say. But if he was going to tell this man his story, he wanted to get off the damn stool.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short - but there is more coming.  
> Thanks to Hannah BlackDog9314 for her advice and encouragement!

Castiel was more than surprised that Dean had returned, and to find him banging at the door had thrown his usual composure. As he hurried across the shop to open the door, he couldn’t help but feel anxious. Was the man here to yell at him? Castiel didn’t think he could bear it if Dean looked at him with revulsion and pushed him away. But if he was here to push him away, then why had he come back to do it? Surely it would be easier to stay away and have done with the whole situation.

As he poured tea for his unexpected guest, Castiel watched Dean unwind slightly, a less tense set to the shoulders, a slight smoothing of the worry lines between his eyebrows. By the time he had sat beside him for a while, sharing tea, warmth and his kitchen but nothing more Dean began to speak.

Castiel was reluctant at first to share his gift fearing rejection, or even worse, revulsion. But he spoke honestly and shared a very deep and private part of himself with the man sitting beside him. For some reason it felt right to be as honest as possible.   
The last time he had shared this part of himself with another – it had been someone whose trust he had thought implicit. They were lovers, and had been for some time, and the story was shared in their private space, between the sheets in the afterglow; a time where such confessions should be shared, cherished and accepted. Instead, like a dash of iced water his lover had laughed at him. Sat up, turned around, looked him in the eye and full bellied laughed at him. Castiel had never in his whole life felt so humiliated, so degraded; needless to say he and Alistair were over from that moment.

But Dean didn’t pull back, didn’t laugh, didn’t ridicule; instead he seemed genuinely interested, despite the fact that Castiel’s inadvertent truth sharing had obviously shaken this green-eyed man deeply.

Castiel had been looking into Dean’s eyes in the wake of his story and Dean’s reaction… he felt the moment stretch out, until it should have felt uncomfortable, but it didn’t. And then Dean was grinning and talking about his butt! Castiel’s laugh burst out of him with a deep and melodic rumble… he couldn’t help it, the laughter had a life of its own and was shared between them.

“You’re right, that’s not what I was expecting you to say!” he grinned back easily at Dean. “Let’s move, you take the couch, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Castiel moved toward the bathroom, still grinning, as Dean stood up and shook out each leg in turn to try and ease the numbness in his ass from the hard stool.

Dean stood alone in the other man’s kitchen, starting to feel a little foolish now that he was alone. What the fuck was he still doing here? It was late. Castiel was a well-meaning psychic of some sort, or a very convincing and amiable fraud. But no one who grew up with Missouri Mosely as a neighbour for a time could ever dispute that some of that mind-reading psychic stuff was absolutely freaky-true.

Dean wanted to know more about Castiel, why he was here alone, then again he mused, maybe he isn’t alone you idjit, maybe he’s just being polite and you misread every sign as per freaking usual, dumbass.

The comfort and warmth Dean had felt sitting next to Castiel and listening to his story had totally disappeared leaving Dean feeling unsure and out of place. As soon as Castiel returned he was going to make his excuses and leave. Just apologise for taking up his evening and escape back to the Impala. He rubbed his palms nervously along the thighs of his sweatpants, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for the other man to appear.

“Cas?” Dean turned as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. “Cas, I’m just gonna, I’m sorry for busting in and taking up your time man, I wasn’t thinking, and I’ll get outa your hair…”

“Dean?” Castiel was surprised at the taller man’s sudden change of heart, his loose and relaxed manner had totally disappeared, replaced with tension, he looked like a colt about to flee.

“Please don’t go just yet, I believe we still have some unresolved issues to discuss, I mean, if you would like to” Castiel took a few steps toward the other man, expecting him to bolt any second.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head “Dude, I don’t do the talk-about-my-feelings crap, I get now why you said what you said, we cleared the air, I’m great, you’re awesome, I’m not gonna take up anymore of your time..” his words trailed off uncertainly as he saw Castiel’s face fall, and the disappointment in his eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck he hated hurting people. He never seemed to say the right thing. He presumed that Cas would be glad to see the back of him.

Dean watched as Cas slowly raised those blue eyes to his own, expecting.. he’s not sure what he’s expecting to be honest. “I guess we can talk about the other fairground games another time, that’s if, of course you want to make the trip again.” Cas said hesitantly.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, with a whoosh of relief, warmth spread through his chest as he realised that Cas didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to see the back of him, but neither was he going to delve into the dog’s breakfast that was Dean’s thoughts about his dad... “The fairground stuff? Man, of course! I thought you were gonna…” he shook his head “Never mind what I thought, Cas. I’d still like to help you with those, if you’re still ok with that?”

“Dean” Cas was smiling again, his blue eyes sparkling “I’m so ok with that…”

Dean smiled as he clicked a Creedence cassette into the tape player. He squeezed down on the accelerator and the Impala responded with a growl. He and Cas had talked till late into the night. Even made some plans for the “Grandma’s Predictions” machine. Cas had offered him the couch for the night, but although he’d been tempted, he knew he’d better show up for work tomorrow – Dean glanced at the clock, fuck, make that today.

It was after two in the morning, but Dean felt elated rather than exhausted, maybe he hadn’t fucked this up entirely. A pleasant thought as he threw himself under his comforter and fell into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a week before Dean found himself back on the road to Castiel’s. He’d been late for work on Saturday morning, Bobby had eyed him up and down, taking in the bags under his eyes as well as the slight smile. “Better git goin’ then, boy. Work ain’t gonna do itself” was all he said though.

Dean talked to Sam, planning another weekend next month and chatting about his job and Jess. He was allowing himself one gumball a day from the machine at his office, and apparently it had become a talking point. “I’ll get you more damn gumballs Samantha, knock yourself out!” had been Dean’s only reply.

It was early Saturday evening by the time he arrived and pulled the Impala into the curb outside the Shoppe. I wonder if there’s parking ‘round the back, baby doesn’t deserve to be left on the street. Dean locked her carefully and crossed the sidewalk to the Shoppe door. Dean knew that Cas closed at six, but the door was still standing open and a quarter past, so he was able to walk straight in. 

“Hello, Dean” Cas’ voice came from the far corner of the store where he was kneeling down assisting a young girl to choose a bee themed pottery mug. “I won’t be a minute, please go through” Cas waved vaguely towards his kitchen. Dean walked behind the polished counter, but paused, listening to Cas and the young customer. 

“Is it for your Mother?”

“No, it’s for my Dad, I don’t have a Mom” The girl’s voice was quiet.

“Hey, it’s ok, lots of people don’t have moms. I bet your father is pretty nice, though” Castiel was hunkered down on his knees, right at the little girl’s level.

The young customer’s voice grew brighter “He’s awesome! He can fix things, and he works a lot and he says I am a princess!”

“I bet he does, sweetie.” Cas took her hand and gave her the mug to carry. Let’s go wrap this up for your brave firefighter dad”

“How did you know he was a firefighter?” the young girl’s voice was full of amazement, no fear at all.

“I always know about special fathers… c’mon, let’s get this wrapped. How much money did you say you had?”

“One dollar and thirty cents, is that gonna be enough?”

Dean could hear the warmth is Cas’ voice “That’s perfect. One dollar for the mug and thirty cents to spare! Let me wrap it.”

Dean walked through to the kitchen as Cas and his customer approached the counter. He couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore, but the whole encounter had given him a warm glowing feeling. Cas was good people. There was no mistaking that.

The bell on the door gave a jingle, and Dean heard the locks being drawn for the night. Cas’ footsteps approached, lights flicking off in his wake.

“Hello, Dean” and his face lit up with a grin that showed his teeth as he approached Dean in the kitchen.

Dean couldn’t help himself “Come here, Cas” he said even as he took two steps to meet Cas halfway. Dean’s hands found themselves cradling Cas’ face and with no thought at all he leaned in and brushed his lips against Cas’. As he pulled back he could see a blush rising on the other man’s cheeks, and enormous startled blue eyes looking back at him.

“What” Cas cleared his throat. “What was that for?” He could see Dean backing off “Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, I liked it a lot!” 

“I dunno, I’m sorry, Cas… I may have overstepped here, but I just had to. The way you talked to that kid in there?” Dean looked down, embarrassed “That was really nice of you, dude..”

“Dean?” This time it was Cas’ palm cupping Dean’s jaw, with a thumb gently sweeping across his cheekbone. Green eyes looked up to meet blue “you didn’t overstep – this is very ok.”

=================================

Fixing up Grandma took more time than Dean had anticipated. Just getting creepy granny out of her plate glass display without breaking anything was a challenge in itself. Add to that the complete distraction of the man beside him – and Dean was having a hard time of it. The screws were all old brass and needed to be coaxed undone with elbow grease and WD40.

“Cas, pass me that screwdriver, would’ya?” Dean held one hand out behind him, the rest of him was leaned over into the guts of freaky granny trying to loosen some of the gear mechanism.  
Dean felt a warm body slide right against his back, draping over him as the screwdriver appeared over his shoulder. 

“Dean, do you need to have your head under Grandma’s skirt?” the other man felt the words spoken softly into his ear and shivered. The dark haired man laughed as he let go of the requested tool and stood back again.

“Dude, all her important bits are under her skirt, I’m just trying to get at them, loosen them up a bit with some lubricant…” Dean extricated himself from the machine and turned around to see Castiel shaking with laughter. He was laughing silently, but so hard that he was bent over with his hands clasping his knees. Dean realised what he had said, as well as the innuendo he had not intended.

His companion finally took a heaving breath, and looked up, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “I bet you say that to all the girls!”

Dean couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face, just watching the other man laugh with such abandon. “Yeah, well you can get under her skirt next and make sure she’s nice and…” Dean waited a beat, catching Castiel’s face and whispering in his ear… “moist!”

Both men were caught up in the mirth, Cas collapsed on his knees “Moist! Ergh!” he was laughing so hard he had trouble drawing breath “moist!” he gasped “I LOATHE that word!”

Dean was laughing just as hard and joined Cas on the floor chuckling “Moist – ewwww” and leaning against Cas’ solid warmth. Both men ended up sitting splay-legged on the floor, leaning on Grandma’s worn cabinet, breathing hard, and still giggling. 

“How can you hate a word, Cas?” Dean asked when he had finally caught his breath.

“I’m not sure, I hate a couple of words, but moist...” he shuddered “is the worst”. He leaned closer and Dean wrapped an arm around his back allowing Cas to slot in under his shoulder. Dean tilted his head and buried his nose in Cas’ messy dark hair. He smelled like beeswax and rain, clean and inviting.

“Which other words? I want to know what to avoid, maybe…” he gently stroked the warm denim under his hand.

“I’m not fond of the word sponge…” he lifted his head to look up as he spoke, green eyes meeting his with fondness and amusement. “I am not partial to the word smegma, either” Dean choked on his own breath, letting loose his hold on Cas as he coughed and spluttered, finally drawing a raspy breath, he looked at Cas with tears in his eyes and a ruddy face.

“Holy shit, Cas.. who even says ‘smegma’? Gross, dude!” Dean wiped his sleeve across his eyes to clear them.. “That’s just, I can’t even..smegma!” and with that he lay back on the floor and continued to laugh. “Oh, god, my stomach muscles hurt.” He extended a hand blindly “Help me up dude… I need a drink after that!”

Cas rose gracefully to his feet, and reached to clasp Dean’s warm hand, pulling him up as well.

Dean was surprised that Cas had pulled him to his feet so easily, he had broad shoulders, but Dean had an inch or so and a couple of pounds on him. Cas was stronger than he looked, nice hands too.

Hands still linked, Cas headed for the kitchen with Dean in tow. Both of them still grinning with the warmth and easiness of shared laughter. Cas opened the fridge with his free hand, pulling out two beers. He passed one to Dean, they laughed again as they had to let go hands to twist open the tops. As one, they clinked for luck, and took a long sip of the cold beer. Welcome after the work, and the paroxysms of laughter. Cas hoisted himself up onto the counter, and gestured for Dean to do the same. They sat in companionable silence watching the dark garden through the kitchen window.


End file.
